Descent
by The Nerd Who Wrote
Summary: "...But as time went on, the younger sister became resentful. The ponies relished and played in the day her elder sister brought forth, but shunned and slept through her beautiful night...The bitterness in the young one's heart had transformed her into a wicked mare of darkness..."


**********DISCLAIMER: The author of this writing does not own My Little Pony or any affiliated trademarks. This work is a fan-created non-profit writing, and the author has recieved no compensation, monetary or otherwise, from its creation or distribution.**

**Alright, this is going to be my last new story for a while. I have enough on my plate without adding any more. That said, this is something I've been interested in writing for, well, actually, since before I became a brony. Luna's fall is skimmed over in the first two minutes of the show, and just left at that. But it occured to me right away that there is a story there. A tragic story, but a story worth being told.**

Why? Why were they sleeping? They should have been out playing and enjoying the beautiful moonlight. But instead, they lay in their beds, unaware of the wonder that lay just outside their front doors. The glory of the fireflies, dancing among the flowers. The wonder of the moths, fluttering about in the darkness. The majesty of the owls, silently gliding their way through the darkened skies. And above it all, her beautiful moon, shining down on the world, turning the land into an otherworldly marvel as the shadows mixed with the moonlight, and the crisp air blew gently through the branches of the trees, creating a soothing melody as the leaves rustled against each other.

And they slept through it all. Every night, they went into their homes and slept, ignoring all of the splendor she had laid out before them. Why? Why did they shun her beautiful night so? Why did they not go out and enjoy all the marvels she had created for them?

All too soon, though, the night was again over, and the moon made its retreat, the sun rising to take its place in the heavens. And as she watched, they began to file out of their homes, greeting their neighbors as they went off to work and play. Why? Was not the moon more lovely than the sun? Was not the howl of the wolf more beautiful than the cry of the rooster? Were not the insects of the night more entrancing than their cousins of the day? Her night, so beautiful, so lovely, so serene… So undeserving of the mockery that was their sleep. Why could they not see how wonderful it was? How much greater than it was than the day they chose instead to conduct their lives in.

She watched them prancing about, relishing the day, the sun, the birds. For as long as she could remember, she had watched them doing the same, ever working and playing and enjoying the day, only to hide from the night, and all the wonder that she had made for them. She saw a group of children playing by a stream, and wondered if they knew how much greater that stream was during the night, when the moon reflected in the calm water that chilled to the soul, creating the most intense feeling of being alive. Of course they didn't. If they did, they would have been playing in the stream last night, or the night before that, or before that, or any of her wonderful nights, not in the day.

Her wonderful nights.

Her wonderful, amazing, beautiful nights, shunned and ignored and abandoned in favor of the day. Why? Why did they hate her nights? Why did the mock them with their sleep? Her nights deserved better than this. They deserved better than this. They deserved better to be shunned and scorned and slept through. They deserved to be enjoyed, adored, spent gazing at the stars, reveling at the marvel that only be seen at night.

But no.

Instead, they mocked her. They mocked her work, mocked her. They laughed in the face of her nights, and in so doing, laughed in her face. The art spoke of the artist, and with their disdain for her work, betrayed their disdain for her. After all she had done to create her beautiful nights for them, they spat in her face. Why? All she had done for them, to create her wonderful nights, and they mocked her. Who did they think they were, mocking her? Was not her love for them evident in the labor she performed every night for them? Why, then, did they not return her love? Why did they not relish her creation as was its due? They laughed and played all through the day, but her night? No, they shunned it. They, they, aarrgh! WHY? WHY DID THEY HATE HER NIGHTS? WHY DID THEY HATE HER? WHAT DID SHE HAVE TO DO TO EARN THEIR LOVE? WAS NOT ALL SHE HAD DONE ENOUGH? THE COUNTLESS BEAUTIFUL, GOREGOUS NIGHTS SHE HAD BROUGHT ON, AND THEY SCORNED AND MOCKED HER! WHY?!

Luna turned from the terrace overlooking the morning's work and play and retired to her chambers, where she cried herself to sleep for what felt like the millionth time.


End file.
